Replacement
by Water Flower 2009
Summary: Imagine you had the opportunity to live in the place of a character. Here's what I would do if I were Belle moving into the village.


The road had been a long and dusty one. Deep grooves still stretched on for a long while, reaching into a tiny village in the middle of France, where a farming town laid nestled in between a river, a dense forest, and hills that could almost be mountains. It was this road that was directing a tense party of an old man, his young daughter, and a loyal, old cart horse. The young daughter, Belle, wore a face of such longing and anger that her father, Maurice had no idea how to even begin to comfort her, though he wanted nothing more.

"...Fear not child. Meaulne can't be all that bad. Sure it's not as exciting as Paris, but I think it would be best to change the pace a bit and just enjoy life's simpler pleasures."

She only buried her nose into her book. He fell into his own silence. Nothing had been the same since his wife's death 6 months ago. Everything seemed to be collapsing around him all at once. It was all he could do to get as far from Paris as he could afford to escape the pain that threatened to drown him and Belle. She however, wanted to stay close to her dear mother's grave, and was angry with him for wanting to run away.

At long last, the tiny village came into view from behind a hill.

"Look, dear Belle!" Maurice cried, "There it is! Is it not a charming village?"

Belle glanced up briefly from her reading, and returned to her reading.

"Oi, that's no way to treat your father," said an echoing voice.

In her shock, Belle nearly dropped her book. Looking over at her father, he merely looked dejected and tired.

"No, it was not him that spoke, nor can he hear me, for I'm a voice in your head."

As Belle was about to cry out in shock, she froze in place by the voice, "I wouldn't suggest calling out, it could lead to some very bad implications for you."

"Who are you?" Belle asked mentally.

"Who I am doesn't especially matter. All that matters is that I'm here, and I'd like to make a deal with you."

"What could you possibly do for me?"

"I'd like to switch places with you."

Now Belle was completely lost. "What do you mean 'switch places'?"

"How would you like to go away into a little corner of your mind to let yourself mourn your mother and not have to worry about the outside world at all?"

Belle flinched at the memory of her mother's death. It had happened so recently that the ache was still fresh. "What does it matter to you? Why would you even want to switch places with me?"

"To live again of course. Lets just say I've been dead for quite sometime now, and I don't want to accept it quite yet."

Belle recoiled in fear. "Are you asking me to sell my soul to you?"

The voice giggled, "Don't be so silly, I'm no demon. Think of it this way, I'll be able to live again living your life for you until I can accept my death fully, while you go sulk for a while about your mother. Once you are ready to come back out and take over, I'll give back your body and I'll probably move on. Plus, you'll be fully aware of what's going on during your sulk and easily pick up the place where I left you. Now how does that sound to you?"

For a few moments, Belle weighed the implications of this decision. "Alright, I'll allow it, but can you do me one favor while you have control?"

"Certainly."

"Read as many stories as possible?"

"Hmm...sounds like a fair enough trade."

And with all that said, the mental switch began, and a splitting headache crashed over Belle like as tidal wave of agony that sent her into a fit of screams while clutching her head with all her might. The sudden scream startled Philippe into rearing into a gallop and Maurice straight out of his own thoughts.

"Belle! Belle, my dear, what's wrong?!" he cried, stopping the horse and kneeling beside her, trying to comfort her.

Through her groaning, teeth clenched and rolled up into the smallest ball she could make, she replied, "...I need to get to the house… now."

With his hands shaking, her father grabbed the reins once again, and urged Philippe to go as fast as he could, keeping one hand on her back. As they tore through the village, winding down after another long day, the carriage made such a racket, that everyone in the town poked their heads out of their windows. Among them was Gaston and the three triplets from the upstairs window of the tavern.

"Strange. Wonder what the huge hurry is for," Gaston wondered, scratching his bare chest.

"I don't know, but that must be the new family that's moving here."

"Of course it is, Rosalie," quipped Emilie.

"Well, you want a pint from downstairs, Gaston?" Coralie cuddled closer to him.


End file.
